


Dream and Reality

by J__K



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Historical, Russian Empire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J__K/pseuds/J__K
Summary: The mystic meeteng after the Decembrists revolt.
Kudos: 1





	Dream and Reality

Julie was peering into the darkness of the mirror corridor, in which mocking candles lights were dancing, and could not see anything but her face — as pale as snow at those frosty January days. Perhaps she did not do exactly the way her nanny told Julie, and that is why there was no reflection of Julie's groom. Mirror images were multiplying, the corridor was going far away, and her eyes were closing; Julie still could hear a sinister song about rich men, which was sang when she took her ring out of a bowl, and she was afraid.

Clocks struct midnight. They stand in the hall separated from Julies room by a long enfilade, and their bell sounded like grunting, or cough, or moans. The black night was there, above Moyka bank, flew into windows of the mansion, hide into corners of Julie's bedroom.

All the house: parents, brothers, even servants, — were probably sleeping now, and only she was awake.

Julie had an important deal.

On the thirteen day of December of the past day her groom, Aleksandr Nechatsky, said her goodbye in an odd manner. "Farewell forever. — he said. — And sorry for everything." At that time, she paid his words no attention, — indeed, it was quite stupid to worry about every his melancholy for he was too excitable. He also added something about Speransky, Winter Palace and the manifest, but Julie could not bear such serious talks and was not listening to him.

On the twenty-sixth of December of the same, one thousand twenty-fifth, year he did not come to the ball, which was given by her parents and at which he was invited one of the firsts. He did not send her a letter, nor a short note, nor a footman, and Julie was restless for two weeks.

"Renew frocks?" — "Oh, mama, leave me be!" — "Get a walk down the Boulevard?" — "No, papa, I'm not willing." — "Aren't you ill?" — "What on earth is everybody wants from me?!"

So now, after the Christmas and before the celebration of Baptism, she hoped to find out something about Aleksandr Nechatsky. The mirror gave no answer, neither did a moon, like it was keeping a secret; only a song presaged a death — but Julie did not like that end.

She sighed, wiped tears. A chine with crucifix fell — like it was alive; Julie's fingers were trembling, and she hardly understood what she was doing, — on the table, the belt slipped down from her nightdress, Julie put a silver comb under pillows. What the nanny said to do then? To remember a devil?

She could nor even open her mouth to say this awful word! She was too well-mannered to swear: a cursing princess — what an odd thing!

But if it helps Aleksandr? If it is an only opportunity to find out anything about him? Obviously, she had to do it.

"Le diable." — whispered Julie and, not crossing herself, lied on the bed.

***

Julie goes... no, she flies like a bird above Petersburg. Here is Winter palace and the square in front of it. Here is a monument to Peter the Great. The horse rears up, neighs and is ready to run — but Julie is now far from it, she will not see. Here is the Spit of Vasilyevsky Island and another island further a bit.

Spire as a golden needle pinches the light sky. The island is rounded by walls, that like a star sprawled out. Julie comes down, stands on a fair snow, goes into the fortress.

Why is she here? Why not at home, not at ball, not at theatre? Why goes somewhere — without an idea where? She does not know — and there is no necessary to know, and there is no will. Julie moves, as though somebody leads her, along walls, past guards, and does not afraid to get lost.

She goes up to a low building; semi-circular barred windows squint, and a door, also rounded, opens as an enormous mouth. Julie gasps: she feels iciness and dampness; stale — non-living — air flows from the door and having grabbed Julie pulls her thither.

High walls are almost invisible: windows are near the ceiling, and winter sun is highly ever shining here. Voices are heard; they call, cry, moan, like clocks moaned at night, and one of them is more noticeable.

"Yulia Pavlovna!" — Aleksandr shouts. — "Yulia Pavlovna, do you know, what is going on?"

"No!" — she answers. — "Where are you?"

He keeps silent and suddenly appears near her. Thin, ill, dishevelled, he says the only word "end" and vanishes.

Because of stuffiness Julie felts dizzy, everything becomes blurry — and the fortress also disappears.

***

More than half a year has passed.

Siberian pines were going up — to the sky, as azure as in Julie's dream. She came a long way, but not fewer she still was going to deal with. Yulia Nechatskaya was going with exiles, with convicted rebels, with her husband. It was the end, it was her death to society, to acquaintances, to relatives.

But it also was the start of a new unknown life.


End file.
